Baby of Mine
by 3chuckandblair3
Summary: Chuck and Blair have a happy marriage and a beautiful daughter, Isabella. But when tragedy strikes, the foundations of their family are shaken, and their relationship is tested. Pairings: B/C, mild D/S and N/V
1. AN

_**A/N: Hey all! So I just wanted to say a couple of things before I post the first chapter of **__**Baby of Mine**__**, the sequel to **__**This Love.**__**First of all, don't worry if you didn't read **__**This Love.**__** Basically, Chuck and Blair have a daughter named Isabella – you can start there. Anyway, this story is going to have a lot more drama an suspense. Isabella is five years old, but there are flashbacks throughout the story. (I'm thinking of B/C wedding, how Chuck proposed, Bella's first Christmas, etc.) Anyway, I wanted Serena and Dan to have a daughter Bella's age, and ditto with Nate and Vanessa's son, so ignore the fact that Serena was not pregnant at the time Bella was born and neither was Vanessa – sorry to have to be inconsistent, but just roll with it. ANYWAY, I should be posting soon! Can't wait to hear what you think when I do!**_

_**XOXO**_


	2. Dream a Little Dream

Chuck rolled over and glanced at the clock. This was the third night in a row Isabella had come into their room long after she was supposed to be asleep. 3:00 am. He had to get up for work in three hours. He sighed. At least it wasn't as bad as those first years, when he and Blair had to wake up with the baby every night, only to go to classes at Yale in the morning. He turned over to look at his sleeping wife. He rose a hand to wake her up – he could never comfort Bella like Blair could – but he dropped it when he saw Blair breath deeply in her sleep. She was so beautiful when she slept. He couldn't wake her. He sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side, reaching out for his little girl. "What's wrong, Bell?" she rubbed her wide brown eyes, heavy with sleep, and her tiny mouth opened to a yawn. Chuck couldn't help but smile. Those little red lips were the exact replica of Blair's. He pulled his daughter into his lap and she buried her head in the crook of his neck. "I had a bad dream, Daddy," she said softly, her hot breath hitting Chuck on the nape of his neck, making him shiver. He ran a hand through her soft brown hair. "Do you want to sleep here, babe? Between me and mama?" She nodded, letting free another yawn. Chuck picked up her tiny body, small for her five years, and tucked her underneath his thick covers. She snuggled up to her mother and fell asleep nearly immediately. Chuck looked over his girls for a couple of moments, breathing steadily. He smiled at their similarities – the same soft chestnut curls, same slender red lips, same dark eyelashes curled over ivory cheeks in slumber. _But beneath those eyelids_, Chuck thought to himself, _were the eyes_ – _his_ eyes, dark and slanted, those eyes that gleamed when he was happy or upset. He had given those eyes to his daughter, and they shone from the tiny replica of Blair Waldorf's face, purely and unequivocally _Bass._ He lay down, arranging the blankets tightly around the little girl so he couldn't kick them off her in his sleep, and drifted off.

Chuck woke with a start. He felt as though he'd been sleeping for hours. Light slanted in from the cracks around the thick curtains of his bedroom – what time was it? He looked over at the clock. 9:00 am. _Shit. _Where the fuck was Blair? The room was empty. He had overslept, and Blair was nowhere in sight. He felt his heart start to race in a panic that he had gotten used to since fatherhood – since Isabella took her first steps he was in constant fear that she would get hurt, or lost. A door slammed, and he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his room. "Blair?" he said, struggling to sit up in his stupor. His head was spinning. He wasn't used to getting this much sleep. "What the hell is going on?" The door to his room swung open, and she danced in, coat open, cheeks flushed. The sight of her knocked the wind out of him, as usual. Twenty three years old, and she still didn't look a day over seventeen. Just as beautiful as the first time he'd kissed her. "I just dropped Isabella off at kindergarten," she said, kicking off her shoes and settling onto the bed next to him. "Oh, and I took the batteries out of your alarm clock." Chuck sat up abruptly, kicking the covers off, nearly sending Blair tumbling over the edge of their king-sized bed. "Goddamnit, Blair! I'm two hours late. You know nothing gets done without me!" Blair frowned, and Chuck was momentarily distracted by the way her lips formed a plump bow when she pouted. "But Isabella was in our bed this morning, so I know you were up with her. You needed the sleep. Besides," she said, shrugging off her coat seductively. "I wanted to spend some time with you." She began to slowly unbutton the pearl buttons of her silk cream Nicole Miller top. "you're the boss, Bass. It's not like they can fire you." Chuck grunted. That's what he got for falling in love with someone as conniving as himself. He should really go into work – there were still a good five or six hours left in the day – but he found himself unable to tear his gaze off the pink lace of Blair's bra. God, she looked good topless. He gave another annoyed grunt and pulled her to him. Screw work. He was married to Blair freaking Waldorf. As in, could look at her and touch her anytime he wanted. He'd never get used to the idea as long as he lived. How had he gotten so goddamn lucky? She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, and he thought fleetingly that he hadn't shaved yet, that his chin was covered in a centimeter of brown stubble. She leaned further into him, pressing a kiss at the corner of his mouth, then sighing and kissing him full on the lips. Suddenly Chuck couldn't remember why he ever went to work at all.

12:00 pm. The phone rang loudly, jolting Chuck form his reverie. Who the fuck was calling? He had been lying in bed with Blair, listening to her deep breathing, when she had sat up suddenly and started trailing kisses along his chest, signaling that she was ready for round four. Or was it five? Chuck reached over her to pick up the cordless. "Hello?" he said, barely able to mask his annoyance. "Mr. Bass?" the voice on the other line was shaky, concerned. Let them be concerned, Chuck thought roughly. No one interrupts Chuck Bass. "What do you want?" he began gruffly, but his voice softened as Blair moved up to his neck, planting warm kisses on his sensitive skin. "I'm kind of busy." "I'm sorry, Mr. Bass, but this is Nurse Katherine, from Constance. It's – It's about Isabella."


	3. Where Do The Children Play?

**A lot of people were upset that I left you hanging, so here's another chapter. Sorry it's not too happy, but y'all asked for it! Anyway, this chapter is disturbing in the second half, and there are a lot of dark thoughts and really sick issues. Just thought I'd issue a warning. Anyway, I told you guys this would be less overall fluff than the last story, and I meant it. **

**XOXO**

Chuck sat in silence the entire cab ride over to Mount Siniai. The nurse suggested they move Isabella as soon as possible. He kept replaying the conversation with the nurse over in his head. _Attacked. _Who would want to attack a little girl? Who would want to attack _his_ little girl?_ Someone with a death wish_, he thought roughly. A hand on his shoulder made him jump. _Blair._ He turned to his wife, and read the concern in her eyes. Concern and agony. He should be taking care of her. Why was she always the stronger one, always taking care of him? Tears brimmed behind his eyes, and she pulled his head towards her. He buried his face in the soft skin of her neck. How many times had she seen him cry? _Too many_, he thought, pulling out of her embrace. "It's going to be fine, Blair," he said, the shakiness in his voice betraying his fear. He slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close – a little closer than necessary, holding her until their taxi pulled up at the doors of the hospital. Fear coursed through Chuck again. _Isabella will be okay_, he thought. She had to be okay. What had the nurse said? A head injury? Concussion? Chuck took a deep breath as he exited the cab, holding tight to Blair's hand. The cool air stung his lungs, and he took another breath, just as deep, before barreling through the hospital doors.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Bass," the doctor was saying as he edged the door to Isabella's hospital room open slowly. "There was a lot of internal bleeding, and her brain just needs time to recover. We really can't know when she'll wake up. _If_ she'll wake up," he corrected himself softly. At the doctor's words, Chuck almost fell off balance. His baby might not wake up. He choked back a sob and the tears were spilling over before he knew it. He tore his hand from Blair's, and his vision fogged over with red. _Fury._ He would kill whoever did this to his daughter. He would kill every person in this goddamn hospital, murder them one by one until someone – anyone – told him that his daughter would get better. He lunged forward towards the doctor and felt Blair pull him back. He shook her off easily, and moved forward until he was an inch from the trembling doctor's face. "I want to know what the FUCK you did when she was brought in here. I will pull all the records, and if you mishandled the situation even a _little _bit, I will sue you for _everything _you have." He was breathing heavily now, and he could feel his face flushing, his heart thumping out of control. And then Blair was pulling him back, making him sane again as usual. "Mr. Bass, I assure you we did everything we - " Chuck turned away from the doctor, anchored by the sound of his wife's soft voice. "Chuck, please don't do this –" and it was her pleading that kept him from tearing his hair out, twisting out of his skin, destroying everything in his line of vision. It was her voice that saved him, just as it had time and time again. He turned to look at her, and her face was pale, her eyes calm, but her mouth was twisted in anguish.

The woman paced back and forth slowly. She had never been good at waiting. And this – this was torture. She heard a buzz and looked up to see a man let himself into the hotel room, keycard in hand. He turned and shut the door, and the woman wondered fleetingly how dangerous it was for her to be alone in a room with him. She turned and saw a wide smile spreading across his handsome features. Could he really get so much pleasure from killing a child? She felt a swift fluttering inside her stomach. _The little girl, crying for help_ … Now it was she who smiled. Little bitch deserved to die. "How did it go?" she said, turning to the man, her voice rising in excitement. She tried to push the giddy feeling out of her stomach. This was the most dangerous game she'd ever played. The most sick. She nearly laughed out loud. She'd been sick a long time. Had dark thoughts since she was a child. She'd tried to escape her demons as a teenagers with lighter things, like drugs and men, with dragging down the whole, the healthy who surrounded her.

"I'm not sure she's dead," the man said, interrupting her thoughts. The woman saw red, the old, familiar flash that obscured her vision any time she felt she was losing control.

"What the fuck do you mean?" She said, venom in her voice. The man took a step towards her, then seeing the fury in her eyes, drew back.

"I took her into a janitor's closet. I almost had the job done when I heard voices, so I ran. No one saw me, but, you know, she might have still been conscious when I left." The woman narrowed her eyes and tried to take deep, calming breaths. So the girl might be alive. But she was no match for the strapping young man. She had to be gravely injured, at the very least. She'd die soon. And if not, that could always be taken care of later. The point was that her parents be in pain. And they would man was sitting down on the bed now, and she watched him closely, wondering why he'd agreed to do this. She recalled discovering their shared hatred for Blair Waldorf. _Blair Bass,_ she corrected herself. But what had Blair done to this man that was awful enough to drive him to this? She wondered if he liked little girls. If he had done anything to the child before hurting her physicals. If that's why he had run out of time on the job. She saw red again, making her head spin and her vision cloud.

_Her eighth birthday, her uncle with his hot breath and his cloying hands, the gentle tug as he slipped them under the waistband of her pink cotton underwear. _

She bit down hard on her lower lip as she pushed the memory from her head, the way she'd banished memories of that first time – of all the other times – out of her head so often before. A part of her felt light, happy. _This_ little girl deserved it. If she had deserved it, then Blair Waldorf's snow-white spawn certainly did.

The man had turned the TV on and was flippng channels. He paused at the morning news. The woman's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the little girl's face on the screen. She had never seen the child before. But, god, was she beautiful. The heart-shaped face was framed by dark hair, nearly black, like her father's, but falling in soft waves like her mother's. The lips were a small red bow, plump and set in a serious little line – all Blair. But the eyes – the eyes were his. The woman twirled an auburn lock of hair around her fingertip, mesmerized by the child's face, only vaguely interested as to whether she was dead or alive.

"Hey," the man said loudly. "Did you hear that? She's in critical condition at Cedars-Mt. Sinai hospital. Hey! Can you hear me?" The woman smiled slowly.

"I guess we'll have to pay a visit to Mt. Sinai, then." The man turned back to the TV, disinterested.

"You're the boss, Georgina."


	4. Think About a Lullaby

The wind was knocked out of him as soon as he entered the room. He felt Blair's tiny hand on his arm and remembered to breathe. Isabella – his beautiful little girl. She looked so small and helpless hooked up to so many machines, timing each fragile heartbeat, each quivering breath. He knelt down beside the bed to place a hand on her little cheek. Her usually rosy skin was bruised and bluish. He drew in a sharp breath. He'd personally murder whoever did this to his baby. He felt Blair's presence behind him and drew up quickly. She was motionless, tears spilling over her flushed cheeks. He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face in his shoulder. The scent of her made his heart swell, as always. He had failed her, again, too wrapped up in his own grief to think of his wife, who always had to be the strong one. Who always had to save them. A shiver ran through him as Blair's cool tears fell on his neck. How many times had he lay awake, wondering how she had picked him, out of all the men that had ever wanted her – why he was the one she had loved fiercely, vowed to stand by? And how many mornings had he woken up next to her, trying to think of what he had done to deserve so much? Was this his punishment for being too happy?

_ The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away_, he thought savagely. And everything he had ever loved, he had lost. Everyone who had ever loved him had died. Everyone except Blair. But if something happened to Isabella, it would destroy her. He hadn't protected their family. He hadn't given Blair the life she deserved. Not if she lost the best thing he ever gave her.

He shivered again, unconsciously. _You've got the poison touch, Bass_, a little voice in his head said. Blair pulled away from him, and he unwillingly unfolded his arms to set her free. She stepped back, but rested a soft hand on his chest, playing with the collar of his shirt. "She'll get through this, Chuck. _We'll_ get through this," she said, her voice quiet but steady. And he took her hand and kissed it without answering, because he wasn't so sure that they would.

**************************************

Willow Humphrey reached a small hand up to meet her mother's. Even at 4 years old she was extremely perceptive.

"Mama, what's wrong?" Serena reached down to tuck her little girl's golden curls behind her ear.

"Baby, it's Isabella." Willow's eyebrows furrowed in concentration above her large indigo eyes. Serena struggled to find the right words to make her daughter understand. "She's been hurt very badly. Now, Daddy's going to stay here with you and I'm going to see Uncle Chuck and Aunt Blair and Isa, okay?"

Willow stuck out her lower lip in a tiny pout. All of Willow's moods were genuine – her love, her laughter, her anguish. Isabella, on the other hand, knew, even at five, that she could use her angelic face to get her parents to behave in certain ways. _That's what comes_ _of having Chuck and Blair for parents_, Serena thought. But Willow was different – a perfect blend of Serena's free spirited, affable charm and Dan's sensitive intellect. She embodied all Serena had hoped for in a child – and though Blair had laughed at Serena's "hippie-mama, acid-trip" name choice, Serena couldn't think of a name that fit her beautiful sunshine child any better. But, as a result, when Willow pouted, her mother took her seriously.

"Honey, do you want to come see Isabella?" Willow nodded solemnly, her blue eyes filling with a familiar empathy. Serena stroked her daughter's flaxen waves again. "Okay, sweetie, it's not going to be easy. Isabella is very hurt, and she's not going to look so good. But she's still your friend, and even though she may not seem like she knows you're there, she will." Willow nodded again, and Serena took her daughter's hand, confident that the child was prepared. _Children understand much more about death than most parents give them credit for,_ Serena thought to herself. At least, that's what she thought a good hippie mom would say.

*********************************

Jenny cradled Dean in her arms, rocking him softly and stroking his jet-black hair. He wasn't an easy sleeper – he awoke with loud cries every time she put him down. It was harder to get a baby to sleep than she would have thought, before she had him. Everything about single motherhood was harder than she'd thought. But this was what she'd wanted all along.

After her "relationship" with the photographer had turned out to be nothing more than a fling, she'd gone on vacation to Mexico, where things started getting hot and heavy with the personal trainer at her resort really fast. And _then _she'd had to go back to New York where she'd run into her ex- ex- boyfriend (or was it the one before that?), and she had almost considered getting back together with him before she remembered why she'd broken up with him in the first place. And _that's_ when she decided that it would be best to have a baby on her own.

Dan and her father and her three best girlfriends had told her to wait. They'd all said she couldn't do it. Not with her wildly popular clothing line, or her pending degree at New York University. But she just _knew_ it couldn't happen any other way. So she'd gotten herself pregnant. Well, not exactly. She'd picked out the perfect sperm donor – one with jet-black hair and striking blue eyes (as far a cry as she could muster from her first love, Nate Archibald), and Dean James Humphrey had happened, a miracle in his own right. And precisely 12 months after Dean's conception, Jenny finally understood why people had said she couldn't do it. She _almost _couldn't. It was exhausting. But worth every minute.

The phone rang, and Dean opened his tiny mouth in a small oval and let out a wail of despair. _Shit._ Jenny though. _Shit, shit, shit. _

"Hello?"

"Jen, it's Dan."

"Hey bro," she said, her mood lightening at the sound of her brother's voice. "What's happening at the VanderWoodsen-Humphrey household?"

"Jenny –" She froze, picking up on his tone for the first time since she'd answered. That was not a good voice. That was a _something terrible has happened _voice.

"Dan, what's wrong?"

"It's Isabella. She was attacked at school and she's in critical condition at Mt. Sinai." Jenny took in a quick breath. Her head was spinning. _Isabella_. Despite their problems in high school, Blair and Jenny had become very close through Serena. Along with Serena and Vanessa, Blair was Jenny's best friend. And Isabella – Jenny thought of the little girl, so beautiful strangers stopped and stared at her, so like her mother in appearances and her father in nature. Who would want to hurt the child?

"Dan," Jenny said, catching her breath. "I have to go to the hospital– can you watch Dean?"

"Yeah, Serena's there now with Willow and I'm here with River. Just drop Dean off at our place?" Jenny nodded to herself. River was Dan and Serena's newborn baby boy, calm and serene like his name suggested. Maybe he'd have a soothing effect on her restless child.

"I'll be right there."

************************************

Nate couldn't stop shaking all the way to the hospital. How had this happened? If anyone deserved this, Blair and Chuck did not. He thought about his best friend. _Fuck_. Chuck had to be flipping out. The way he looked at that little girl –

"Goddamnit!" the taxi reared forward as a truck pulled in front of them, cutting the cab off. "Sorry," Nate said quickly. "It's just been one of those days."

"God knows we all have 'em," the driver said, nodding sadly in the rearview mirror.

_ Goddamnit,_ Nate cursed again, silently, this time. What was he supposed to tell Oliver? That his best friend was asleep and might never wake up? Nate thought about his little boy, his olive skin and emerald eyes and golden-brown curls. _What nationality is he?_ People on the street constantly asked, and Nate would grin and happily rattle off Vanessa's long list of ancestry. "African-American, Sioux, Puerto Rican, French…"

"And W.A.S.P.," Vanessa would cut in, nodding playfully towards her husband. "He's 100% W.A.S.P."

And now Vanessa was pregnant with another. A girl. He could feel it. What if this had happened to his kid? He didn't even want to think about it. He couldn't deal with it. But Chuck – Chuck would fall apart.


	5. Don't Take the Girl

**A nice, long chapter for you all since it's been such a while!! 3 xoxo MOI**

The hospital room was dark as Serena entered, the shades drawn. She saw Blair's back first, small and curved, as she leaned forward in the chair. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, and her arms wrapped protectively around them. Serena felt tears spring to her eyes at the sight of her friend, and she was across the room in two easy steps, pulling Blair into a fierce hug. Blair didn't move, didn't even acknowledge her presence. Her chin rested on her knees, and she was staring, unblinking at the little figure that lay in the hospital bed across from her. Serena's mouth dropped at the sight before her. Isabella's eyes were closed, her expression beatific, but her beautiful face was yellowed and bruised. Serena felt her skin prickled with rage. _Who had done this to her goddaughter? Who would do this to Blair and Chuck? _She breathed in deeply, trying to gain control of her emotions. Her best friend needed her.

"Where's Chuck?" Serena asked quietly. She felt Blair's body tense at the name, and she dropped her legs and turned to face Serena, her eyes wide with anguish.

"I don't know. He doesn't want to be near me," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. Serena shook her head imperceptibly.

"Blair, you know how Chuck is. He's not the best with feelings, and he's hurting and he probably doesn't want you to see that. "

Now it was Blair who shook her head. "I think – I think he blames me." And she was choking on her words, tears flowing freely now. Serena pulled her in tight for another hug, stroking her hair like a child.

"No, Blair. Nobody blames you." Blair let out another sob in response, and Serena felt a tear slip down her own cheek. "Shh, Blair. Give Chuck time. In the meanwhile, I'm not going to leave you. I'm never going to leave you."

Nate couldn't stop pacing. The other people in the elevator were looking at him like he was insane, but he couldn't help it. He had to get to Chuck. And fast. The elevator dinged, softly announcing their arrival. He took a deep breath and exited the doors. The first thing he saw was Chuck, sitting on a chair in the waiting room that was clearly designed for a child. His broad back was curled over, his elbows rested on his knees, head in his hands, fingers buried deep in his dark, disheveled hair. Nate took two hesitant steps towards his friend, suddenly unsure of what to say – how to act. He cleared his throat once, quietly, but it was enough.

Chuck looked up quickly, pulling his head up from his hands, and his eyes were wide and startled. Nate was surprised to see the redness of them; the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks. His heart was suddenly clutched by a cool fear. He had never seen Chuck cry before. He didn't know what to say. But Chuck was up before Nate knew what was happening, pulling his best friend into a fierce hug. At first Nate was too stunned to speak. He wrapped an arm around Chuck's back slowly, and patted him hesitantly. Chuck didn't let go. Instead, he clutched the fabric of Nate's coat tighter, his body shaking with silent sobs. Nate felt tears burn behind his own eyes. What could he say to Chuck? What could he do to make this better? _Nothing_, a voice answered him. _You can do nothing_. And so he tightened his grip around the shoulders of his friend, his _best_ friend who was never good at showing emotion, who had probably never initiated a hug in his life. His best friend who was falling apart.

Chuck finally released Nate, and they sat down silently. Chuck was looking at the ground, breath ragged with unshed tears. Nate placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Where's Blair?" he said, quietly, and he felt Chuck flinch at the sound of her name. Chuck was silent for so long that Nate was almost sure he wouldn't answer. After several long moments, he turned to Nate.

"I can't be with her," he said softly. Nate furrowed his brow, puzzled. If anyone could help Chuck through anything it was Blair. Chuck shook his head as if looking for the right words to explain. "I don't know what to say to her, how to help her. I - " his voice broke. "I failed her." Nate shook his head.

"You didn't, Chuck. This isn't your fault." And his voice rang with so much concern, so much sincerity, that Chuck almost believed him.

Then Chuck let out a short laugh, and the cold sound echoed in the empty waiting room. "Can I tell you something?"

Nate nodded.

"I'm a shitty husband."

Nate shook his head, but Chuck held up a hand to stop his protests. "I'm a fucking shitty husband," he said again. "You know, when we found out about Isabella I didn't even look at her. I couldn't hug my wife, or even tell her it would be okay." He sighed heavily, his brows pulling together in a dark line. "We've been married for four years and the only reason why we've lasted is because she asks so little of me. She knows I love her, and that's enough." His expression lightened momentarily, and then the darkness was back. "We've lasted because nothing bad has ever happened to us. So we've been able to survive on love alone." He paused, and his voice was so quiet, Nate had to strain to hear it. "But god, when push comes to shove, I am a really, really shitty husband."

Nate paused for a long time, studying the patterns on the floor. He looked up suddenly, and Chuck's eyes were unfocused again, as if he had forgotten Nate was there.

"No, man." Nate said. "I refuse to believe that being a good husband means knowing what to do all the time. Fuck, man. _No one_ knows what to say to their wife when something like this happens." He paused, studying his hands. "You've never cheated on her, right?" Chuck nodded, still not looking up from the floor. "And you make her happy, right?" Chuck nodded again, but the motion was smaller this time. Nate's voice rose in frustration. "And you love her more than anything, right?" Chuck closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, and Nate didn't need an answer. "Then you're already better than 99% of the guys out there that call themselves good husbands!" Chuck's shoulders shook, and Nate was silent again, still uncomfortable with seeing his friend cry. But he laid a soft hand on Chuck's shoulder.

"It's not too late, man," he said quietly. "Your wife needs you."

Serena was still holding Blair when Chuck entered, and she met his eyes with anger. Her rage softened, however, when she saw the tears dried on her step brother's cheeks, the wild regret and fear in the dark depths of his eyes. He glanced at Blair, whose face was still buried in Serena's shoulder, and she saw him swallow hard, saw the agony play over the angular planes of his face. Blair didn't look up, didn't hear him enter or approach. He was by her side, still silent, and Serena stood up slowly, supporting Blair's body so Chuck could take her place. When the transfer was complete, Blair looked up as if woken from a deep sleep, startled to be surrounded by Chuck's scent, to suddenly be in his arms. He raised a hand to her hair and Serena watched as he stroked it hesitantly, pressed his lips to her forehead. She watched her best friend's hands tighten around Chuck's neck, grasp desperately at the collar of his shirt. It didn't matter how much of a screw-up Chuck was. It didn't matter that he was unreliable, and afraid of nearly everything, Serena thought, disbelievingly. Blair needed him dangerously. She needed him and no one else. But Serena sat down in a chair and watched the couple anyway, unwilling to leave. She had promised Blair she'd stay. She was staying.

The room was full within minutes. Jenny came next, wrapping Blair in a firm hug, keeping an arm slung around her while Blair leaned her head on Jenny's shoulder and, at Serena's urging, tried to get some sleep. Vanessa came next, pressing a quick kiss to her husband's lips.

"Thanks for calling me," she murmured. "I came as fast as I could." Seeing that Blair was asleep, she approached Chuck hesitantly, and the two fell into quiet conversation that seemed mostly one-sided. Every now and then, Chuck would nod or shrug at something Vanessa was saying. Nate watched intently. It never stopped surprising him, how well his wife and best friend got along. They had formed an easy friendship, distain for each other melting as quickly as it had come in high school, and for that, Nate was grateful.

Willow sat in a small chair at the foot of Isabella's bed, watching her best friend breathe in and out, counting the times her tiny chest rose and fell. She heard the voices around her, saw her mother and all of her mother's friends – these people who were her family – crying and talking. But still, she couldn't take her eyes off Isabella, couldn't stop watching her breaths to make sure they were still coming. She had had a dog once, and it died when she was three. Just stopped breathing one day when she went to preschool. She'd never go back to school, she decided. She'd stay and watch her best friend – her beautiful best friend who looked like a sleeping princess – breathe in and out until she opened her eyes, and then Willow wouldn't have to count anymore.

"Willow," Jenny was saying softly. "It's time for you to go home to be with daddy and River. Your cousin Dean is there, too." Willow sat up and rubbed her eyes. Had she fallen asleep? She turned quickly to her friend, and noticed with relief that her chest was still rising and falling.

"No," she said softly to her aunt. "I have to stay with Isa." Jenny smiled sadly.

"Isabella wouldn't want you to stay awake past your bedtime, babe." Willow looked around. There was no light creeping in through the shades anymore, only darkness. She wanted to stay with Isabella, with her mother and her aunt Jenny who let her eat candy before dinner time, and with Vanessa who had dark hair like Pocahontas and sparkly blue eyes, and Chuck who was serious and mysterious, but funny, too, when he let Isabella and Willow put makeup on his face and ponytails in his hair. She wanted to stay with Nate, who had a nice smile and never yelled, and she wanted to stay with Blair. She especially wanted to stay with her godmother Blair, who her mother loved so much. Willow couldn't remember exactly when she discovered that her mother loved Blair more than she would ever love her. It was okay, though, because Willow had understood why. Blair was the most beautiful person Willow had ever seen. Her hair was shiny and dark, and her red lips pulled into the most magnificent of smiles whenever she was happy or proud. Willow loved making Blair smile, and she knew Isabella did too. Only, Isabella had the same smile, so she could see it anytime she looked in the mirror. Willow had to watch carefully for it on Blair. But now Blair looked sad, and small, and alone, and Willow didn't want to leave her. She didn't want to leave any of them, these magical grown-ups in their wonderful world of laughter and secrets that she wasn't privy to. But now her mother was by her side, lifting her into her arms and whispering in her ear.

"Daddy misses you baby, and he needs help taking care of Dean and River." Willow's lower lip trembled, and she felt a tear escape the corner of her eye and fall down her cheek. "Shhh," he mother was saying, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. And the gesture was so familiar, so frequently repeated, that the child was soothed by it despite its insignificance. "Isabella's alright, baby. She's just fine." And Blair was awake, and looking at Serena with a puzzled expression in her eye – all hope and questions, and Serena shook her head almost imperceptibly, and Blair's eyes dropped. Willow closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of her mother, knowing now that she had to leave. She wasn't part of this world, and even at four she realized that there were some bonds too strong to break, some secrets only meant for these grown-ups to know.

Voices rose, and Georgina wondered if these people would ever leave. She checked her watch. _3:27 am. _They had taken vigil at the child's bedside, staying long into the night. She had known these people, too once. How many years had it been since she had known them? How much had changed in her absence? These people who had been her friends, her _best_ friends once, when she was too young to even know what friendship was, had made new friends, fallen in love, and formed this tight knit circle – this impenetrable _family._ And it made her blood boil to know what they meant to each other. That even if the child didn't live, Chuck and Blair would be loved. They would survive. And she was alone.

It was a dangerous game she was playing at – standing so close to the door of the room that she could hear every motion on the other side. Nate Archibald's even, steady breathing, Blair's soft, infrequent sobs, and Serena's melodic stream, the throaty ring of her voice.

It was a story she was telling that filled the silence of the night, the stagnant air of the hospital room, and her voice broke as she spoke of a child – Willow – who, along with Isabella, had taken a pair of scissors to her Versace dress the night before a big gala in order to make bedding for one of Willow's dolls. Georgina was surprised at the turn the tenor of the room had taken. There were no tears as the story progressed, no angry words, no sounds of sleep or even worried conversation. There was only Serena's story – a retelling of happier times, of amused parents and silly anecdotes and children.

_Children._ So Serena, too had a child. _Willow_, she had called her_. _And it shouldn't have surprised Georgina, shouldn't have wounded her, but it did. Serena was beautiful. Serena was magical. Serena was radiant. And she had belonged to Georgina once. But now – now she belonged to Dan Humphrey, and her little girl, and Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass and the child lying in the hospital bed who meant enough to her that she could tell a story, and laugh and try to lighten the mood when the worst could happen at any moment. Yes, Serena was tied to that child whose parents she was there for, who were teetering on the brink of despair, their fear and worry all consuming. Serena told the story for them. _That _was grief. _That _was love.


End file.
